Read Online The Front by Patricia Cornwell - Free Book Online Page A

the prosthesis socket just above your kneecap—which is visible through your jeans, by the way, only because your leg is bent and halfway in the air—I wouldn’t know. I’m not the one having the problem. Curious, yes. Voyeuris tic, no.”
    â€œYou left out manipulative, because that’s what you are—a goddamn manipulator who must do nothing but cruise designer-clothing stores, men’s catalogs. Because all you care about is the way you look, and no wonder. Since that’s all there is to you. And I don’t know what you’re up to, but this isn’t the way to start. First, you were supposed to meet the chief at ten. So already you’re demonstrating your lack of respect.”
    â€œI left a message.”
    â€œSecond, I don’t appreciate you messing with people who are none of your business.”
    â€œWhat people?”
    â€œThe lady you bullied into meeting you at the park.”
    â€œI sure as hell didn’t bully anyone. She left a note at my apartment building late last night, signed it Raggedy Ann, told me to meet her at the playground this morning.” He doesn’t realize how ridiculous it sounds until he’s said it.
    â€œStay away from her.”
    â€œThought she was just some crazy from a local shelter. Now suddenly you have a personal relationship.”
    â€œI don’t give a damn what you thought.”
    â€œHow did you know I was meeting her?”
    Stump shoves the seat forward, starts driving again.
    â€œYou know what?” he says. “I don’t have to put up with this. Turn around and drop me off at my car.”
    â€œToo late for that. You’re getting your way. Gonna spend a little time with me today. And maybe by the end of it you’ll take my recommendation and go back to your day job and get the hell out of Watertown.”
    â€œOh, before I forget. I was burglarized last night.” He’s not about to mention Nana, that actually she was burglarized, not him. “Now I find out some fruit loop who dresses like a rag doll is lying about me. Then, magically, you show up instead of her.”
    â€œWhat burglary?” Stump sets aside her hard-ass act for a minute. “You mean your apartment?”
    â€œNo. The friggin’ Watergate.”
    â€œWhat was stolen?”
    â€œSome personal belongings.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œSuch as I’m not giving you details because right now I don’t trust anybody. Including you.”
    Silence. They turn on Arlington, then Elm, then pull into a remote parking lot of the Watertown Mall, where she backs into a space between two SUVs.
    â€œCar breaks,” she says, as if their previous conversation didn’t happen. “These jerks tie magnets to strings, drag them along a door to lift up the lock. Or poke a hole in a tennis ball, slam it against the lock so the forced air pushes it open. Of course, the big thing now is these portable navigation systems.”
    She opens the glove box, digs out a Magellan Maestro 4040 that has a broken adhesive disk. Plugs the charger into the cigarette lighter, wraps the cord around the rearview mirror. The crippled GPS dangles like fuzzy dice.
    â€œPeople are stupid enough to leave them in their vehicles, in plain view. In my case, I was stupid enough to leave this one in my car, which is used by other cops when I’m off duty. A little different from what you’re used to, I imagine? Crown Vics with GPS systems built in, cell phones with unlimited minutes. You know what happens when I reach my limit of minutes? I’ve got to pay the phone bill myself. And forget a take-home car.”
    â€œIf I had a take-home car, you think I’d be driving that car wreck, as you so diplomatically described it?”
    â€œWhose is it, anyway? Doesn’t go with your designer suits and gold watch.”
    He doesn’t say.
    â€œSee that old lady unlocking her minivan?” Stump goes on.